The Great Daedric Tournament
by Kaeru Rei
Summary: Bored, the daedric lords organize a yet-unheard-of tournament in the province of Skyrim: each lord selects a champion for a last one standing contest that will test both the warrior's capabilities and the daedric lord's schemes and power. No Dragonborn or dragons involved with the story. Features all daedric princes.
1. Boethiah & Mehrunes Dagon

**Notes:** this is a piece of fiction. I obviously make no profit out of it, though I wouldn't mind that payment came from an activity I enjoy, for once.

You'll notice this is not entirely compliant with every single piece of lore out there, but I'd beg that you overlook that in favour of giving the plot a try.

I realize the relations amongst daedra are very much not how I depicted them, and that they wouldn't really stand one another, but to hell with that. As I said, this is obviously fiction and I wanted some murder, plotting and daedric action. Also, I know daedric princes are supposed to be genderless, but I don't much care.

 **Chapter 1**

There was no wind, no music, no sound. The dark gloomy aura of Attribution's Share fell over its twisted stony buildings in impassive monotony.

Boethiah sighed. She was bored.

How long since she last held a good tournament? Those mortals were not working near hard enough.

Why, sure, she had her fair share of followers, but they were mostly mentally incompetent, or so it seemed to her.

Mindless murder is mirthless murder, after all.

Reflecting, she thought she could have held a tournament if she had been paying more attention to mortals in the last few Nirn decades. She currently knew of maybe three decent candidates for battling to death, but they were all dunmer and that just would not do.

What else was there to battle boredom away? She supposed she could think up a way to rile good 'ol Molag Bal into a fit of his destructive rage. That was always a welcome sight, if somewhat unnerving. To mortals, that is.

Scoring one on the horned (horny) fucker was quite something, but right now she did not feel quite in the mood for stepping on the other daedra's tail, so to speak. Now, if she could get her best champion to battle Molag Bal's best to death, maybe...

That thought gave her pause. Oh. But yes! Of course, and then―

She disappeared in a whirl of black and blue.

Boethiah reappeared in the middle of Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands. Thunder roared in the cloudy red skies above. Before her, a bridge of floating stones arched over a big river of lava towards Dagon's castle.

Always so showy, thought Boethiah suppressing an eye roll.

She stepped over the floating stones and walked carelessly over them as they quaked and faltered under her feet. The angle of the bridge became steadily steeper until she reached a point from which the high rocky towers and lava rivers that coursed through Dagon's wastelands became visible until they got lost in the dark distance.

Boethiah continued her ascent until she finally reached the doors of the castle. Thunders cracked, their flashes of light casting shifty shadows over the gigantic rock construction.

There was an armed dremora at each side of the big stone doors.

"Announce my arrival, scrags," she ordered. The dremora exchanged a stupid look.

"Master Mehrunes Dagon is not expecting anyone," one of them said.

Boethiah blinked, unamused.

"You can either open the door, let me through and run to announce my arrival― or die," she warned.

"I think," the second dremora said cautiously. "That we should do as she says."

"Fuck you," said the first dremora who had spoken. "I take orders from no other than my Master."

It was fast. One moment the dremora was speaking and the next he was flailing in mid-air and falling towards the lava pit that surrounded the castle.

The other dremora gaped at Boethiah's muscled arm (still raised) for a second and then hurried to open the doors.

"I'll announce your arrival, mistress," he said hastily. "Please pardon my manners."

Boethiah tilted her head, secretly satisfied, and let the dremora run before her. She walked regally behind.

"Mehrunes Dagon, Master!" the dremora gasped upon reaching Dagon, "You have visit from Mistress Boethiah."

"Why'd you let her in?" drawled Dagon, his cheek resting in one of his palms. "I was not expecting her."

The dremora opened its mouth to speak, but Boethiah had already caught up with them in the throne room.

"Dagon," she spoke instead. "Is that how you receive me? I have always known you to be a ghastly host, but never this uncaring with your fellow princes."

"Is always bad new, whenever one of you appear at my door."

Mehrunes Dagon was sprawled in his gigantic stone throne, towering over Boethiah with his gigantic size. Three of his arms rested lazily at his sides.

"Where are your fabled weapons?" asked Boethiah.

Dagon shrugged.

"You are as bored as I am, is that not so?"

"Wouldn't presume to know what goes through that nonsensical head of yours," answered Dagon with a grimace. "I honestly prefer it that way."

"It does not deal with Molag Bal this time," assured Boethiah.

Dagon scoffed, unconvinced.

"No more than it with you, Nocturnal, Peryite or myself."

Mehrunes Dagon rolled his eyes.

"Where is your dagger?"

Dagon frowned. There was a moment of silence.

"You mean the Razor?" he asked, trying not to sound offended.

"Indeed. What did you do with it? Have you given it to any mortal recently?"

"No. It's hidden in some nord tomb full of corpses." He seemed to think about it for a moment. "I certainly _hope_ you're not thinking about _taking_ it."

"Not my style," said Boethiah. "Do you have any worthy champions right now?"

"Speak clearly, damn you. Get to the point or leave."

Boethiah smiled to herself.

"I want to hold a tournament," she explained. "Just not the Ten Bloods. I thought we could make a bet of sorts, all the princes. That we could each choose a champion and give them our artefacts and let them battle to death until there is a single surviving winner."

Mehrunes Dagon shifted his massive body in the throne, a well-hidden flicker of interest shining in his yellow eyes.

"What for, Boethiah?"

"Entertainment," she said. "Competition. We could help them cheat and bet amongst ourselves and laugh at the losers for having weak champions."

The hand that had been holding Mehrunes Dagon's cheek was now rubbing his chins thoughtfully.

"I would have to look amongst my followers, but I think I can manage one or two candidates."

"Just one," said Boethiah. "What do you think?"

Dagon considered some more.

"Damn you," he murmured. "You've managed to actually tempt me."

"I have always thought you to be on the smart side of the spectrum."

"Spectrum?"

"Pay no heed."

"And have you spoken to the others?"

"Just you, now," she said. "I was hoping you would be interested enough to help me inform them."

"I might, at that," answered Dagon with a hint of resignation. "You wouldn't know how _difficult_ it is to move oneself around with my size, but if I get too lazy I tend to develop a hunger for mortal souls, and we both know what happens next. It's about time I haul my ass outa this chair."

"You could shrink yourself to a more manoeuvrable size," Boethiah suggested.

Dagon began the slow process of standing himself up and pretended not to hear.

"Just leave Molag Bal to me," Boethiah told Dagon's knees.

She heard the other daedra chuckle softly.

* * *

I have written more of this, but decided to start publishing to see if I could get any feedback. As I said at the beginning, I am aware there's some holes and discrepancies with the actual TES lore. Feel free to correct me.

If you read all of this, thank you very much and I hope you enjoyed.


	2. Peryite

**2**

Boethiah found Peryite scrutinizing some yellowed pages over a ratty desk in the middle of the swamp-like area it called 'the gardens'. Padomay knew this whole plane of Oblivion could use some tidying-up, but to call that mossy, wet folly a _garden_ was stretching language further than one should.

"Peryite," Boethiah called. The other prince raised its delicate dragon head and regarded her from over its shoulder.

"Boethiah," it acknowledged. "You seldom visit my gardens. Whatever do I owe the honour to?"

"I have come to extend a proposal to you," said Boethiah, all too conscious of the filth that was clinging to her cape.

"Indeed," said Peryite, turning its long, slender neck to the papers again.

"This might actually interest you. Could we go inside and discuss it?"

"I am busy," said Peryite. It was clearly more interested in whatever the papers said.

"What are you reading?" asked Boethiah.

Peryite turned completely then. It had the unmistakable head of a dragon, certainly, yet it was the least menacing-looking dragon Boethiah could conceive. Peryite was slender, which made it appear taller than it really was. Its long, clawed fingers were almost birdlike in their delicacy, and it lacked wings altogether. If not for its long tail and neck, it would look much like an argonian, only taller. As it was, it could be described as a biped lizard.

"If you must know, a mortal follower of mine has turned up with most unexpected results from a long-running investigation and I am very much interested in figuring out how to use this to my advantage. Your presence here now is not… particularly opportune."

"I see," said Boethiah sourly. She hated to be dismissed. Wishing she had gone to Meridia or Sanguine instead, she continued: "What I will tell you may help you benefit from these… findings."

"Will it now."

"Yes. It concerns a show of abilities."

Peryite crossed its arms.

"I am not interested in your trifling with Molag Bal, Boethiah."

"Perhaps I should not waste my time with you," she countered angrily. "I should have let Dagon tell you himself. Maybe you would have listened to him, if nothing else, because he is taller than you."

They stared into one another's eyes for several seconds.

"Very well," conceded Peryite at last, snorting disdainfully. "Follow me."

Boethiah was angry, but followed Peryite anyway, grimacing as they crossed greenish muddy waters towards Peryite's home. As houses went, it was no better than the garden. Climbing the rotten steps, Boethiah wondered if Peryite thought of the structure as a castle like most daedric lords did with their residences.

The house was built over and with the aid of several trees, their branches intertwining to form walls, floors and roofs. It stank of mould and rotting wood. From the outside, it looked like a big forest that had somehow been collapsed into a single tangled mass. From the inside, it was little more than a wooden, mossy, humid maze of branches. Fungi grew everywhere.

Peryite guided Boethiah through several passages to a bigger chamber opened to the bare swamp ground. Some light filtered through the branches that acted as roof. At least the ground here was not as wet, thought Boethiah. Peryite signalled for her to occupy one of the tree-trunks that were laid in the room. It sat in front of her and crossed its arms again, waiting.

Boethiah cleared her throat and decided to be straightforward.

"I want to hold a Tournament. I already spoke with Dagon and he agrees. We are thinking of something yet unheard of. I want not only mortals killing one another, but also for us princes to participate, in a way. I propose that we each select a champion and bestow them with one of our artefacts, then we have them all battle to the death until there is one last surviving winner. As a prince, if you agree to the Tournament, you would tend to the selecting and informing your champion, train them if you will."

Peryite was silent.

"You said a follower of yours came up with some discovery. I am sure you should be able to manage a worthy champion."

"You are not," hissed Peryite resentfully. "You think me a fool? I know you consider me to be below the rest of you."

Boethiah opened her mouth to speak, saw Peryite bare its long sharp teeth in warning and cleared her throat instead.

"Listen, we― I know we have undermined your position, but it is as true as the fact that you spend most of your time holed up in this muddy plane, devising illnesses and pests and not even deigning to attend our meetings."

"I have attended some," Peryite said, but it sounded less sullen now, sad even. "You are not entirely wrong."

"This could be an opportunity for you," continued Boethiah, seizing Peryite's softening. "If you have a worthy champion, you could prove us all wrong. You could even win―" she said this last bit only to give Peryite additional impulse. She was sure her champion was unbeatable.

"I will consider it," said Peryite.

Boethiah knew that was as good an answer as she would get. She quickly stood.

"I will be leaving, then. Do attend our next meeting, if you decide you will participate."

After Boethiah had disappeared, Peryite began navigating the labyrinth of its house in search of Spellbreaker.


	3. Azura

**3**

Mehrunes Dagon appeared amidst a forest of whispering willows with softly-glowing leaves. Fireflies danced in the air between the tall grasses like fallen stars. The air smelled faintly of roses. Trying half-heartedly not to destroy everything with his enormous feet, Dagon stepped out of the grass and onto the cobbled trail that led to Azura's palace. As he walked, the sound of crickets echoed around him.

Moonshadow was a realm of beauty. Hundreds of thousands of stars twinkled in the skies, glowing mushrooms lighted the carefully arranged paths and a soft constant breeze made the leaves in the trees rustle. Mehrunes Dagon did not care for beauty, but had never disliked Azura herself.

Azura's castle was big as a mountain: it raised to the cloudless skies in sharp silver peaks that caught the scarce light like cat's eyes. The main entrance was at its very base, covered by an arch of thorny roses tall enough for Dagon to comfortably walk through.

The chambers were ―fortunately― high-ceiled. Roses were everywhere: in flower-beds, in small and big pots, in glass vases, even in the carvings that decorated the walls. Their smell here was so strong it almost reached the point where it is not pleasant anymore.

Finally, Mehrunes Dagon reached the castle's throne room. Azura was there, sitting in a high-backed silver chair. Her legs were crossed and her fingers intertwined over her knee, an unreadable expression to her face. She wore a dark blue see-through gown, her ample bosom mostly uncovered. A crown of pink roses adorned her long black hair.

"Mehrunes Dagon," she said. "To what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

"Azura," greeted Dagon, dully noting there was nothing he could sit on. "Can't a friend come visit?"

She laughed then, a dark rich sound that would have driven a mortal to love or madness or both.

"Certainly," she said. "Have a seat." She signalled with her hand, and silver roses sprouted from the floor, knotting together to form a big stool that looked sturdy and big enough for Dagon to occupy.

"Thanks," said Dagon, sitting. "Is everything going well?"

Azura smiled enigmatically.

"You know how it is: sometimes you get what you want, sometimes you do not. Even us daedra cannot fully master chance."

"Just so."

"Was there something you wished to discuss? I am not particularly busy, but have never known you to be one for idle chatter."

"You know me well," admitted Dagon. Then, after a pause: "Boethiah came to me."

"Did she? What happened?"

"Not trouble, at least for now. She has an idea and I'm tempted by it."

"Tell me."

"She wants to hold a tournament using mortals, but she wants to use champions for it. Make them battle to death."

Azura frowned.

"I am not sure I understand."

"Are you familiar with the Ten Bloods she holds? Something similar, only overlooking races in favor of using our champions."

"To what purpose?"

"Competition!" exclaimed Dagon, and at once Azura realized how enthusiastic he truly was towards the idea.

"And how does this concern me?" asked Azura. "Surely you do not expect me to partake in this foolishness."

"That's where you're wrong. I do."

Azura covered her mouth with a hand, hiding a smile.

"Oh, silly Dagon. You should know me better than that."

Mehrunes Dagon sat straighter and smiled back.

"I know you well," he said. "I know you won't be drawn to glory, blood or betting― but!" he made a dramatic pause, raising a dark eyebrow. "You can't pass up a chance to order daedric princes around."

Azura's expression changed minutely then. Her smile was less knowing and her eyes held a hint of greed.

"Oh, I know you," repeated Dagon. "When this comes to pass, as I know it will, and quarrels and arguments break all thorough Oblivion, who'll be there to coach us back into a resemblance of order? Rules are established for a reason, Azura. You, my lady, are the reason we follow any of them at all."

Azura was silent.

Dagon knew he had won. He also knew to give her space to pretend she had been persuaded rather than bribed.

"How will you choose the mortals?" she asked.

"Each one of us will appoint one of their champions. Boethiah proposed we give them one of our artefacts as badge."

"I will be honest with you, Dagon: the idea of sacrificing a good follower does not appeal to me."

"I know. You are supposed to pick someone that is likely to win, though."

Azura considered this.

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Azura," teased Dagon. "It's no great loss, if your champion dies. You know they die all the time. Fuck, one of my followers was dumb enough to eat some poisonous damn _berries_ , of all things! Was dead in an hour, the stupid little shit."

"Charming," conceded Azura. "I do not know, Dagon. I am reluctant to agree, although I see your point. We will speak in the next meeting."

"Sure," answered Dagon, standing and turning for the exit. "I have other daedra to visit with the news, but it was good to see you."

"Likewise, Dagon."

"Ah, just one more thing." Mehrunes Dagon stopped and turned back to Azura. "Do you think you could tell your sis? I'm not all that fond of her."

"Well, I―"

"Thank you, starry-eyes. See you soon."

And he disappeared at once, leaving a grimace on Azura's pretty face.

-X-

 **Note:** This is still part of Chapter 1, story-wise. I wish to explore the interactions amongst the daedra, so I decided to make a short intervention for each of them. Because they are seriously short, I am posting two together this time, but I don't know whether I'll be able to keep up, now that the semester is coming to a close and exams loom ahead of my blightful days.


	4. Mephala

**4**

Boethiah had been procrastinating on paying the other daedra lords a visit for a couple of Nirn days. She had gone to see Mehrunes Dagon, who told her both Azura and Nocturnal were dealt with, although he admitted to sending Azura to speak with her sister rather than doing it himself. Boethiah did not blame him, Nocturnal was too cryptic and sour, barely tolerable and certainly not what one would call _nice_.

Her little chat with Peryite had stung her pride, and because she did not exactly get along with all her fellow princes, Boethiah was dreading having to come face-to-face with some of them.

She had bargained with Dagon, trying to avoid having to visit some of the ones she disliked the most, and had managed to convince him to visit Vaermina and Hermaeus Mora but, smart fucker that he was, he had in turn taken Sanguine and Sheogorath. And, because it had been _her idea_ , she was stuck with having to inform most of the rest.

Boethiah was no fool. She knew Dagon had been very accommodating in offering any help _at all_. Daedra in general are not the most collaborative folk around, only surpassed in laziness by aedra themselves.

Boethiah also knew the time of the next meeting was approaching steadily, and if she did not manage to convince all the princes in time, she would have to wait in boredom a long, long time indeed.

Her desire for a tournament had to be greater than her aversion to see some of the other princes. Breathing deeply to steady herself, she resolved to visit the worst first and disappeared before she could change her mind.

A moment later, Boethiah was greeted by the cold, gloomy aura of Spiral Skein or, as she liked to call it, Mephala's Great-and-Ugly Spider Nest.

The whole place had a halite of death like a tomb: the sky was grey and dark, as it looks in the mortal realms when it is about to rain. Spiders crawled about, creatures of all sizes and colours. Their webs covered the dead gnarled plants and cold rocks that rose high enough to be visible amidst the half meter of thick mist that covered everything. Small unrecognizable bones cracked beneath her feet as Boethiah quickly advanced through what she guessed was a trail towards the tall tower that hosted the mistress of that plane of Oblivion.

Upon reaching the archway that led inside, Boethiah stopped to shake off the spiders that had clung to her cape before stepping through.

The tower was hollow, cone-shaped and incredibly high, getting narrower as it reached its peak. There seemed to be no solid divisions in the building save for the millions and millions of silk strands that divided the ample space here and there, forming passages, nests and alcoves. Keeping a straight line, Boethiah did not turn her head to the numerous whispers, soft laughs and rustles that accompanied her steps.

The centre of the tower was less crowded by the webs, creating a circular space that Boethiah knew was the very centre of Spiral Skein. Mephala should have been there, but it was completely barren except for the pile of greyish cushions where she usually laid.

"Lorkhan be damned," cursed Boethiah.

A soft ringing laugh was heard them, from above. Boethiah looked up to find Mephala hanging upside down from the ceiling, her big spider legs easily grabbing onto the silk.

It is not uncommon for daedra to have beastlike features, so there was really nothing that would upset Boethiah about the sight. For a mortal, however, it would have been another matter entirely. Mephala had the torso and face of a woman, with perky naked breasts and an elegant, slim waist. From the torso sprouted two pairs of arms, feminine and beautiful except for the long, blackened claw-like fingers. Mephala's head looked mostly human, although she had eight black eyes and fangs amongst her teeth. Just where her torso joined a big spider abdomen, Mephala had an additional eight spider legs, incredibly long and strangely delicate.

As a whole, she could have been described as both disturbing and sensuous.

A shiny thread came out of Mephala's spinnerets as she lowered herself to floor-level. Boethiah suppressed a grimace, knowing Mephala's female parts were in the exact same place the silk came from.

"Greetings, sister," smiled Mephala with devious humour. "What can _I_ do for you?"

Mephala liked to emphasise whenever she referred to herself during conversation. Also, she enjoyed annoying Boethiah by calling her sister.

"Greetings, Mephala. I have come to make a proposition."

"Oh!" Mephala clapped her four palms in feigned delight. "Wonderful! Do tell!" She proceeded to walk, all spidery movements, towards the pile of cushions to lay herself on it, her spider abdomen resting and legs half coiled next to the appendage. Framing her face by placing two hands in her cheeks while the other two remained intertwined in front of her, she watched Boethiah in mute expectation.

Oh, how Boethiah hated her.

"I want to hold a tournament and would ask for your participation."

" _My_ participation? How lovely! What sort of tournament?"

"The usual: mortals killing one another. I am sure you know how it is, if anyone. Listen, I want every one of us to present a champion for the tournament, someone you think should be able to overpower all the competition, unless you do not care for them to die, which I would not put pass you."

Mephala let out a short, charming bout of laughter while making dismissive gestures with her hands as if embarrassed.

"Sister, you are so much fun! Tell _me_ more!"

"I suggest that you bestow your chosen champion with one of your artefacts, to help them through the ordeal and as a symbol of your confidence in them."

"That is good, it is good," answered Mephala. " _I_ will do that. This is really a marvellous idea, sister, did you come up with it on your own?" she laughed.

"I did, you great spider whore. And whether you participate in it or not I could not care less for. I am just fulfilling what I perceive as my duty to inform you."

Mephala laughed again. She was really enjoying herself.

"You wound me, sister _mine_. _I_ would never pass on the opportunity to get yet closer to you, dear."

"Whatever. Be at the next meeting, we will discuss the rules further then."

Even after she had disappeared from the damned place, Boethiah fancied she could still hear the echoes of Mephala's and her spidery minions' laughs following her through the planes of Oblivion.


End file.
